This Is War
by pagupagu
Summary: Hermione was given a locket when she was younger. A strange locket. It comforts her, helps her, and is seemingly her only friend. Stranger still, the locket seems to hold the soul of a man, a man who moulds Hermione to be his in every way.
1. Chapter 1

They stood on opposite sides of the field, furious golden irises glaring into bottomless blue. The weight of the horcrux felt heavy around her neck. She could feel its sweet caress against her collarbone. Her heart betrayed her with a fluttering motion that she had come to despise. The man across from her grinned, bearing his teeth.

Harry was shouting something next to her, attempting to goad the dark wizard into action. His efforts were futile. He was ignored. Hermione was the man's target. His prey.

She was also his weak spot.

Harry raised his wand to his throat, casting sonorous, amplifying his voice so all could hear him, "You hide behind the name Voldemort. You expect us to run in fear. You expect us to hide. You expect us to submit. This goes on no longer. The end begins now, and we will fight, Tom, until you are dead."

Tom Riddle raised a singular eyebrow, his grin never-fading, his eyes never faltering from Hermione.

She thought he resembled a shark in that moment, the ring of his irises flashing a deep red. His jaw tensing and relaxing as he clenched his teeth together attempting to hold his charming smile. He was plotting. He was enticing. And Hermione was being drawn ever closer to his waiting jaws.

"I rather think you have something of mine, Potter. I will entertain you're childish idea of justice, but first… Hermione."

Her name was a hidden command. She could hear it in his voice. A smooth baritone. The caress against her collarbone became a bite. She instinctively reached towards it as she always did when it caused her pain. She slowly pulled it out from underneath her shirt.

Harry frowned. Ron's jaw went slack. Tom held his hand out towards her, pride gleaming in his eyes. He had trained her well.

Hermione's eyes fell towards Harry. She mouthed one word, _'Sorry,'_ and then slowly made her way across the battlefield.

* * *

_Time to escape the clutches of a name,_

_No this is not a game,_

_It's just a new beginning._

_I don't believe in fate but the bottom line,_

_It's time to pay,_

_You know you've got it coming._

_This is war!_

* * *

**Short opening is short! I am intending for this fanfic to be thirteen chapters long, each chapter based off a song from the Thirty Seconds to Mars album This Is War. (I find myself mostly inspired by songs, and this idea fell into my head). Not a time travel fic. I'm mainly going to be playing around with the idea of the horcruxes. I'm also going to say it's AU because I'm going to mess around with ages and characters and what not. Obviously I am not J.K Rowling and the characters are not mine yadda yadda yadda you know the drill!**


	2. Chapter 2

The first time I met Tom Riddle I was seven years old. I can still smell the repugnant Earthiness of the cave and how it repulsed me. I remembered how I had seen the cave from the beach and ran from my parents, eager to explore and map out the small world I'd known. The jagged rocks surrounding me, coated with a dark sheen, were enticing. Placing my hands upon the walls was intentional. Cutting myself wasn't.

That was the first time I thought myself strange. The second my blood spilled upon the walls they opened. I stared down upon the messy, glorious red line upon my palm and winced. I remembered how the other colours had faded away into the background but my blood, vibrant and daring and _crimson_, had imprinted itself into my brain. When I sleep I can still see the brightness of it behind my eyelids. Especially after the days when Draco Malfoy insulted me about how dirty it was. I can still see it clean and clinical and not dirty.

Tom saw it too. Saw how my skin was porcelain and how sometimes you could see the flush of blood from underneath it. Sometimes he stared at the skin by my wrists or the insides of my elbows, waiting for the white to become tinged pink. Gazing at the blush almost hungrily. Once, when I was eight, I had accused him of being a vampire after reading a silly novel. My punishment had been awful and deserved. He had watched the blood rush to my face and was _pleased_.

The walls parted and I had entered the cave, my wide brown eyes that I hadn't grown into yet were big and round on my face. As I moved I noticed water but could not logically work out where it had come from. Maybe it had somehow seeped in from the sea outside underneath the rocks. A part of my brain whispered that it had been put there purposefully. A look across the water confirmed this idea. There, in the middle of the cave sat a small island and upon it was - to my childlike eyes - a large goblet.

I don't remember how I got there. I can explain it now. I apparated. I had desperately wanted to be on that small island and then, without warning, I was. I reached into the goblet, pushed my hand through the liquid there and pulled out a delicately carved necklace.

_I put it on._ I remember that mostly. Out of everything that happened that day I distinctly remember the feeling of putting the necklace on. It tightened around my neck suddenly, constricting my breath and I struggled to stand, my tiny fingers clutched around the giant goblet. Big, wet, salty tears, as salty as the sea around me, rolled down my cheeks. I fell, fingertips losing their grip, and spasmed uncontrollably on the floor and then-

It stopped.

I looked up.

A boy was stood above me.

* * *

"I don't know where to look next. I've exhausted every possible lead. I can't really believe there's this many books on Horcrux's anyway since it's dark magic, but there's nothing left. I've looked everywhere."

He looks the same now as he did then, a thick amount of dark brown hair frozen in place upon his head, eyes deep blue and bottomless, lips thin, teeth white and gleaming. He always did have good teeth. I think that was the first thing I noticed about him - such pearly white teeth parted in his mouth as he'd stared down at me in confusion.

"Hermione," He murmurs, a chill spreading through the air, a warmth burning by my collarbone, _a warning_, "You are a Ravenclaw. What are Ravenclaw's known for?"

"Their intelligence, wit, free thinking-."

"Their _cunningness_, Hermione."

I huff in annoyance, sticking my nose high in the air, "I believe that's a Slytherin trait."

"Oh Little Girl, Ravenclaw's are _much_ more devious than Slytherin's. We form alliances in order to gain the things we need, true, but Ravenclaw's will stop at _nothing_, will step on _anyone_, in order to seek what they need. And what exactly, do you need?"

I stare into those eyes, those eyes that had started to captivate me when I was fifteen and caused my throat to constrict, "A way to bring you back."

He stalks towards me and if he could I'm sure he would rip me open and carve my bones into the finest jewellery he could. Tom had always said that I had such pretty bones. Such lovely skin. But I have never been certain that he liked them _on_ me. I'm sure, if he could, if he were here, he would have burnt me to ashes by now and kept those ashes in a small bottle around his neck. I am a prize to him. A game he has already won. "And _why_ do you need that?"

"Because you are the only person I have." I whisper, my fingers twitching, desperate to touch him. He knows this. He has known this for years. "And I want to help you."

The burn against my collarbone this time was not a warning, but a reward. A caress. A kiss.

"Good girl, Hermione."

* * *

I remembered how I had gazed up at him as he knelt over me. His eyes were narrowed and he clicked his tongue against his teeth once, twice, and stuck his hand out. I reached up to grab it but came into contact with the air around me. I hadn't screamed, even though his hand and my hand had been on top of each other. I didn't yell out, even though I couldn't feel him. Instead I stared some more and began my questioning.

_Who are you._

_Why can't I touch you._

_Did you make this funny room._

_Is it supposed to be a secret?_

_It's not a very good secret room is it if I could get in._

_Is this your necklace._

_You have nice teeth._

_Can I have it._

_I can't take it off anyway - wait lemme try - no I can't take it off._

_You look awfully pale._

_Are you ok-_

His hands rubbed against his temples. He turned his head away from me and stood, his fingertips wiggling. He observed them and a look of disbelief crossed his features. Later, when I was much older, he'd told me how something had gone _wrong_. How he was only supposed to trap his _soul_. That he _did_ trap his soul. Only he didn't expect that, when the spell was cast, that a part of his being would actually _live_ there.

_"Well, duh. It's your soul," _I had said to him years later after a tiring potions lesson,_ "It's your being. It's you. Of course you'll be in it."_

Much like when I was seven, the pain I had been punished with was blistering. The first time he did it to stop my incessant babbling, that time in the cave, fire had consumed my whole being. We'd discovered that it was because of his rage. He couldn't control the fire, the flame, at the time. He'd just _felt._ And because he'd felt, I'd felt. When it had ended, and my seven year old self nearly fainted due to exhaustion, he hadn't apologised. He had looked at me, face not filled with pity, but curiosity,

"Would you mind telling me your name, Little Girl?"

"H-h-hermi-ione." I had hiccupped. He had smiled endearingly down at me.

"Hermione." He repeated, "This necklace you're wearing, well it's very important to me. I was wondering if you could look after it? I'm trusting you, because you're a very special girl. Is that okay? I know you'll keep it safe."

I had nodded, bewildered.

And then I woke up on the beach, my parents were crying and dragging me out of the water. Apparently I'd been swimming in the sea and someone had needed to surge out to me and pull me back in. I'd nearly drowned. No one noticed the necklace around my neck.

* * *

I have only been burnt by the necklace three times in total. I don't often displease Tom. In fact, most of the time I think he enjoys my company. When I received my Hogwarts letter he was overjoyed, explaining how he had known when he first met me that I had been _like him_. He'd smiled the same secret smile at me that appeared when I was ten and I'd accidentally made a girl break her ankle for insulting my hair. He had congratulated me then for standing up for myself. Said that there were people that didn't have magic. That weren't worthy to be around me. That my parents were not worthy to have such an incredible daughter. And I believed him. I resented my parents for not being magical and I pushed away ordinary girls and boys because they weren't like me. _Like Tom_. They weren't extraordinary.

I went to Hogwarts and on Tom's instructions I chose from the two best houses - Slytherin or Ravenclaw. The sorting hat had whispered to me about Gryffindor. I had threatened to burn it.

And yet, despite all my anger and rage and disgust - Ravenclaw was chosen.

Still, I was bullied for my know-it-all attitude and superiority complex. Tom would tell me to rise above it. To rise and see the bigger picture. To laugh at their insults and threats. To focus on my studies and intellect. To continue to be better. I was first in the year _every_ year. My grades were astounding. My intelligence matched no other. Professor McGonagall had once commented that there was no point me being in lessons sometimes as I finished the task within the first five minutes and then sat aimlessly for the rest of the hour listening to Tom has he lectured me on magic that was not taught at Hogwarts. Dark magic. Magic that unnerved me.

Naturally Professor McGonagall did not know Tom was there. Nor did anyone else. He was my imaginary friend. Soon to be real-life friend.

He answered all my questions too. Late at night, when my room mates were finally captivated by their dreams, I would ask him about death, God, the devil, the afterlife and he had all the answers. He was wise and so much older than me really despite this form of him being nineteen.

"There is no God, Little Girl. There is only the lives that we are living now. While it is true death comes - it needn't arrive at all. Immortality is the key that we seek and we will find it. I _have_ found it. While I do find myself... set back, with your help, sweet one, I will prevail."

"_We_ will prevail, you mean."

He just smiled.

"Tom," I said again after a long silence, weariness coating my voice thick with sleep, "If there's no God, does that mean there's no Devil?"

His eyes locked with mine. His lip quirked on the left side. On that same side his eyebrow raised. He looked menacing.

He looked so handsome.

"What do you think, Hermione."

_I think I'm looking at him._


End file.
